Barefooted Stranger
by inksilverblue
Summary: It was during the eve of September and on that one particular day, I encountered a strange man.


Barefooted Stranger

It was during the eve of September and on that one particular day, I encountered a strange man. The deep aroma of roasted coffee beans greeted me first as I walk into a small café in my suburb. A burst of warmth, and my cold fingers felt life once more. Welcomed by the waitress with a cheerful, I nodded and hastily shook off the rain droplets on my umbrella. I took a seat in a far corner away from the window. The high airy wheeze of coffee machines eases my minds and I began to feel myself relax, sinking into the deep cushions of the armchair.

"I'll have peach–" My sentence trailed off as a slim, tall young man with black hair and dark eyes made his entrance. The tiny ring of the doorbell announced his presence and my mouth were left slightly open. "A peach tea" I finished and handed the menu back to the waitress.

His back was slouched at an abnormal angle, leaning almost forward. From up close, he would be considered quite plain, but this plainness instead made him special, and that made him stand out. The bases of his clothing consist of baggy white long-sleeved shirt and equally baggy blue jeans that pooled at his ankles. Although possessing the guts to go barefooted even while in public and otherwise hobo fashion sense, he caught my attention as an aspiring individual. I nervously wondered if I had otherwise gone insane.

As he stepped closer, his pale expressionless face elucidated the shadows below each of his eyes– _a result of sleep deprivation? _"Hot coffee please" he delivered a peculiar mixture of Japanese-British accent. He pulled out a chair at a table to my right and across from me. It took me a while to process the quirky posture of his sitting, crouching on the chair and all.

He turned to my direction and I glanced away, pretending to look over my notebook, spinning the pen in my hand. The oddness dragged further as he held the menu by its corner with his thumb and index finger – the unusual motion continued as he flipped over the pages in the same manner. The curious sight painted a smile on my lips as I went back to work.

"Excuse me" Came the familiar comical tone. I looked up in surprise at the odd fellow smiling wide-eyed, directly at me.

"…Yes?" I sounded anxious.

"Can I?" He held up the jug of sugar. Without waiting for my reply, he sat–crouched on the seat across from me and proceeded to scoop fine white grains into his beverage. My eyes widened in both horror and astonishment.

"That is poisonous" I stared at the cup, picking up my own drink and nervously drank the tea, suddenly thankful of its slight bitterness.

"Not poison. Sugar."

I pointed into the content of his cup–which was less a liquid but more of a paste. Less like sugar dissolved in coffee and more like sugar moistened with coffee–a gooey, gelatinous mass glistening majestically in his cup. "Are you really going to…?"

My question was quickly answered as the man was happily sipping– lapping away. Like it was a perfectly normal amount of sugar. So I watched in dismay as he carried on his gluttonous sugar appetite.

"Do you come here often?" He asked, nibbling away at a lump of sugar on his lips. The corner of his eyes found it's way to my peach tart.

"As often as it takes" I squeezed the pen in remembrance of the task on hand. He nodded with a hint of curiosity, eyeing my work.

"Whew… coffee always picks me up," He said, finishing his cup of what must have been at least two hundred grams of sugar. His gloomy eyes made its way to my perfectly normal cup of tea, studying it - absentmindedly chewed his thumbnail. I grimaced. "Sugar is an essential energy for the brain." He smiled childishly. "My reasoning ability drops 40% if I sit normally." He rocked slightly in his seat as he studied me.

"Reasoning abilities?" I was intrigued.

"To think, to write, to solve things" He motioned to my workload and began to stack leftover sugar cubes into a white structure of diabetes with his pale bony hands. I recognized the look on his face as a form of mindless enjoyment, his drained black eyes shining with enthusiasm. A part of me longed for such carefree. "It's the basis of my own success_, _you should try it sometimes"

"So, Ms. Clary. About what I called you here for–"

My brows scrunched. Could this man possibly be 'Lawliet'? The one I'm supposed to meet? "Mr. Ryusaki?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you"

I have a few ideas as to where I'll go from here. Might continue it if enough of you are interested. Criticism are much appreciated!


End file.
